


Gut Punches

by StarsGarters



Series: Body Blows: Wardlow [2]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Assault, Bondage, Digital Art, M/M, Rough Sex, Tasers, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-22
Updated: 2014-05-22
Packaged: 2018-01-26 02:28:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1671350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarsGarters/pseuds/StarsGarters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Agent Grant Ward is so tired of rookie level missions...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gut Punches

Grant Ward flickered his eyelids and looked through the slits at the plain white anonymous ceiling of the hotel room that he had been supposed to infiltrate. It was a simple mission, the espionage equivalent of a smash and grab.

It had been so hard to not roll his eyes when Agent Sitwell had handed him the assignment. There was no cover, no contingency plan, because there was no need. In retrospect, he might not have concealed his disdain for the rookie level mission as well as he should have.

The security was laughable. A SHIELD tech keycard cloner provided instant access to the room.The thumb drive had been right there, next to the man's clothing. The sound of someone singing in the steaming hot shower provided perfect cover. Ward took one step, then two and his world devolved into intense, incapacitating jolts of muscle-spasming, jaw clenching electric pain.

In his arrogance, he'd forgotten to look behind the door. He was going to die because of a simple rookie mistake. A complete fuck up. Agent Garrett would probably kill Ward himself because making that mistake was just too stupid to let him live.

He was bound on the hotel bed, of course. Probably on one of those comforters that never got washed and carried generations worth of contagious diseases. Felt like wrist shackles. Fine, he could get out of those if he dislocated his thumbs, but that was going to hurt. Really hurt. And that wouldn't help him get out of the ankle shackles, he twitched his leg. Padlocked.

And he didn't have his Get Out of Jail Free kit either, because he was completely naked. Stripped even of his ear comm plug. The sting on his back told him that his tracking tag had been extracted. They had taken him down and had been ruthlessly effective.

But he was still alive. Ward could exploit that, it was the only option he had.

"Still playing 'possum?"

And Ward knew that voice, he knew the rumbly growl intimately. Last time they'd sparred on the gym mat and then later in his bedroom.

He didn't acknowledge the comment and got a jolt of the taser for his trouble. Not a full incapacitating dose, but just enough to make his teeth grind together and his sphincter threaten to loosen.

A love tap.

"So, do you need the infirmary Pretty Boy?" Brock Rumlow kicked back in his hotel chair, black leather boot propped up on the bed. He was wearing dark denim pants, his ubiquitous black t-shirt under a cross-chest harness and those damnable black leather gloves.

"No. So do you want to go another round?" His voice was harsh, throat dry, he licked his lips anticipating either a slap in the face or a kiss. He'd dreamed about both and still wasn't sure what to expect.

"You know, last time you lied to me about that." Rumlow leaned over and pressed his fingers hard into Ward's ribs, right where a newly healed fracture lurked. Ward sucked in his breath. "Yup, right there. I wasn't allowed to come back as a visiting instructor because I'd injured a cadet and not reported it." Rumlow barked a laugh. "Bunch of pussies, the lot of them. Broken bones help you remember what not to do next time." He scraped his glove-clad fingers down Ward's ribcage, lingering over the lean muscles. "Did I break it when we were sparring or when we were _sparring_? Can't remember, doesn't matter does it?"

"I didn't tell them anything." The less attention Ward attracted for anything other than scholastics and field-work the better. He was an expert at being efficiently exceptional. He certainly wasn't going to tell SHIELD about fucking Rumlow.

"Yeah, yeah. I know, they caught you with one of those mandatory bone scans. And I really don't care. That whole place makes me sick." Rumlow's voice lowered to a purr. "But I missed you, Pretty Boy." Ward winced as Rumlow kissed him, bit into his lower lip while dragging his teeth away.

A sadist of course, the kiss after the taser, a hint of a caress after a bite. _Intriguing_.

"I'd take flowers over tasers any day." Ward managed to bluster. "Why, why are you doing this? We're allies. You're... SHIELD." They both knew what he really meant, but neither of them would utter their true allegiance to HYDRA. You never knew who was listening. "Did I miss Teacher Appreciation Day or something? Are you looking for your shiny red apple?"

That sass earned him a lazy slap across the face that made his ears ring. "Oh, this is a fully sanctioned op. Agent Garrett was concerned that you were getting sloppy. And I'm sorry to report, he was right. So instead of doing the normal thing that we do with the washouts, he decided to give you to me for some training." Rumlow smiled warmly and that chilled Ward's blood more than any threat of physical pain.

Ward said nothing, trying to lure more information out of Rumlow. There had to be a key somewhere on the man, all he had to do was wait, maybe have a little fun. And the man did like to talk when he fucked. Ward remembered how Rumlow had cooed nasty epithets in his ear while rhythmically grinding into him.

"Normally I'm a complete professional, but I was so fucking hurt that you turned down STRIKE team training. That was a once in a lifetime invitation. How dare you turn down an opportunity like that! I'd have had you right beside me, fighting with Captain America, making a real name for yourself. But no, you chose to do the sneaky spy shit."

"You could have just called me. We could have gotten a cup of coffee, seen a movie, committed a war crime." Ward had been tempted, but Agent Garrett had vetoed it. There was a special project awaiting Ward, something big. Something far above his current clearance level.

"Sure, you'll be an excellent agent, but I do not take rejection well." Rumlow sighed exasperatedly. "You've got a talent for killing, I can see it in those big brown eyes. And you can take the pain, you fucking thrive on it." He stroked his hand down Ward's body, idly playing with his cock. "I could have forgotten about you, chalked you up to a lost opportunity, but then I saw the surveillance footage. From the bug I planted in your room when you were all loose and limp on the floor. I saw what you did with my gloves." Rumlow leered and licked the length of Ward's tumescence.

Ward had saved the wrecked gloves covered in lube and semen that Rumlow discarded in his room. Possibly for blackmail purposes later, but at the time he'd taken them as a trophy.

On late nights he'd laugh to himself, thinking about the future, about the inevitable destruction of SHIELD at the hands of HYDRA. Then he'd slip them on, one finger at a time and jerk himself off to a frenzied climax. There might have been moaning, oh shit, he moaned Rumlow's name.

Rumlow took Ward's cock deep in his mouth and sucked hard, swirling his tongue and cupping his balls with his leather-clad hand. With a wet pop, he released Ward and raked his teeth down Ward's tender inner thigh. "I want to hear you say my name like that again. In person."

"No." Ward's defiance was born out of self-preservation, but he honestly didn't want to be freed just yet. Was that over-confidence blooming again or was he just eager to find out what creative pleasure Rumlow could devise? Ward was clever, he could turn this around.

"Really, Pretty Boy?"

"You've got to work for it, Rumlow." Ward smirked, now certain that he was in control. He was in charge for as long as Rumlow desired him and manipulating the muscular man made his cock even harder. Ward might actually enjoy this.

The soldier's face softened affectionately, "Oh, how I have missed you." Then he jammed the taser hard into Ward's thigh and Ward's world went dark with a twitching, flopping spasm.

He awoke to the feeling of a thin blackened blade delicately scratching a design of lacerations into the flesh right above the rib fracture under his arm. Ward winced and panted, holding back his groan of pain.

"There. All done. You'll never forget me now." Pride beamed on his face.

Blood leaked down Ward's side, the wound ached and stung bitterly. Rumlow chuckled, pleased with his work. He cleaned the wound with an iodine-soaked pad, then heavily slapped an adhesive dressing on it.

"Iodine makes you scar worse. Or in this case, better. Did you know that's why they don't put it in first-aid kits any more?" Rumlow hopped up on the bed, straddled Ward and grabbed his face, so he had his complete attention.

"Now look, was that so hard? Next time just be a good boy, let me get you off and you'll save yourself a world of hurt. And there will be a next time. I just can't get enough of you. I _care_ about you." So this wasn't just a sexual thing, this was something much darker, much more perverse. Much less manipulatable. Ward had gambled and lost.

"What did you cut into me?" He whimpered, starting to panic.

"You'll see. Later." Rumlow wound his fingers in Ward's hair and kissed him again, hard and deep, hungry with desire and conquest. "I've marked you Agent Grant Ward, you'll think of me every time you shower. Every time you fuck an assignment. Every time you try to enjoy the heat of the sun on your body. My mark will be there." A heavy sigh as he nuzzled into Ward's neck, stubble scraping against the skin. "This is _personal_."

Ward closed his eyes and fought back his panic. "If you care about me, you should let me loose. You know I'm much more fun when I'm an active participant." He did his best to sound seductive.

"Yeah, but you'd probably try to kill me now, Pretty Boy." Rumlow stood up, grabbed his already stocked duffel and put on his jacket. "I know I would. You'd fail miserably at that, just like you did on this mission. The key to the shackles is duct-taped above your head on the wall. The thumb-drive that contains useless encrypted babble is on the bedside table." He pointed above Ward's head and then at the side of the bed. "Have fun. _I sure did_."

"You're just going to leave me here? Naked and helpless? I thought you liked me!" Ward struggled against his bonds.

"I do. That's why you're still breathing." He undid the security chain and clicked the deadbolt open.

Ward hissed between his teeth, " _Rumlowww_!" All of the physical pain, intense anger and turgid frustration in his voice made the name sound like a profane curse.

Rumlow smiled and blew Ward a kiss. " _That's_ what I wanted to hear. See ya 'round Pretty Boy."

Several hours later, Ward paid the jaded housekeeper one hundred dollars after she freed him from his little sex game gone wrong. She didn't say a single word during the whole transaction, not even about the blood or the nudity. She left after crossing herself and pushed her cart down the hallway.

Ward rubbed his wrists and stumbled to the bathroom. In the fluorescent light, he peeled back the dressing. His skin was stained red-orange by the iodine and the wounds still weeped. Rumlow had carved a crude crossbones emblem into Ward's skin, like part of a Jolly Roger flag. More like the harness that crossed Rumlow's chest. He replaced the dressing and got dressed in his clothes that were neatly folded on the bureau.

On the floor next to the bed was another pair of black leather gloves, stained with blood and iodine. Ward picked up the gloves and put them in his pocket, not as a trophy this time, but as a reminder to himself. A warning. There was no such thing as a simple mission.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [A Fresh Start](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2829839) by [Ylixia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ylixia/pseuds/Ylixia)




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